


The Song Of My Heart Beat

by ALittlePizzaPie



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Carmilla is mean, In that Jonny kills himself but can't actually die, Jonny climbs in the vents, Mechanisms Typical Violence, Other, Peter let Jonny be happy challenge, Probably ooc, Sensory Processing Disorder, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, This one's rough I'm not gonna lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittlePizzaPie/pseuds/ALittlePizzaPie
Summary: Jonny could hear his heart beating. He always could. Sometimes the noise drove him insane, every thud of his mechanism beating sending a jolt of pain through his skull. It didn’t stop, not after he killed himself, downed three shots of whiskey, and killed himself again.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 132





	The Song Of My Heart Beat

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this one's just. Really rough.  
> Trigger warnings for Jonny repeatedly killing himself, lots of talk about SPD type stuff, and Jonny thinking he's broken and a failure for experiencing SPD type stuff and for his emotions being weird cuz Carmilla fucked with his brain.

Jonny could hear his heart beating. He always could. Sometimes the noise drove him insane, every thud of his mechanism beating sending a jolt of pain through his skull. It didn’t stop, not after he killed himself, downed three shots of whiskey, and killed himself again. 

Jonny could hear his heart beating. The noise was comforting, sometimes. When everything got too quiet, and he could close his eyes and pretend, for a second, that the steady beat of his heart was the only thing in the universe. He was surrounded by nothing but blackness and the sound of his heart. 

He knew that Carmilla had fucked him up. That he wasn’t supposed to feel everything like this. No one else could hear how loud everything was, after all. Nastya had found him, once, shooting his gun off into the walls of the Aurora. She had demanded he stop, had tried to wrestle the gun out of his shaking hands. 

He had laughed. He thinks, looking back on it, that he had been laughing the whole time. He doesn't know. But he had definitely laughed after Nastya told him to stop shooting her girlfriend, loud and long and a little hysterical. _“The walls are singing, Nastya.”_ he had told her, and he hadn’t liked how his voice sounded. _“I can’t make them stop singing.”_

Nastya had killed him. Which was fair, he thinks. At the very least, it had been quiet. And when he came too, the walls weren’t singing quite as much. He appreciated that. 

He didn’t remember a time before all the noise. He knew that it had to be Carmilla’s fault he was like this, because none of the others understood what he meant when he told them that sometimes it hurt to be around Brian. That was okay. He didn’t need them to understand. So he just shot Brian when he was being louder than normal, and didn’t let anyone see him curled in the vents, hands clasped over his ears and tears spilling out his eyes. 

It had to be Carmilla’s fault, because it was Carmilla’s fault he was so broken. He knew that she had done something to his brain, something that made it hard for him to feel right. He was unstable, and this had to be a part of that. 

Carmilla had hated how broken he was. Which was rich, seeing that she was the one who had broken him in the first place. She had told him that he was wrong, that his brain didn’t work like it was supposed to, and she had said it with a tone in her voice that Jonny had learned to be afraid of. He was a failure, he had learned, a failure who screamed and cried and laughed, even when he wasn’t supposed to. He was angry and happy and scared and it never stopped, it never slowed down. He guessed that maybe it was okay that Carmilla had hated him so much, because he was so broken. She hated broken things. He was still glad she was dead, though. 

One time, he spent a week dead. Whenever he woke up, he just shot himself again. It wasn’t nice, but when he was dead everything was quiet. He couldn’t feel anything. He had only stopped when he came to with Nastya staring at him and Ashes leaving after confiscating his supply of bullets. He hadn’t been happy about that, and he might have killed Ashes for it, bullets or not. But eventually Nastya had managed to get him to sit down, to tell him that he couldn’t just keep doing that. Killing himself over and over. He had made a snide remark about not having to kill himself so much if certain doctors had the good sense to leave him dead. Nastya’s face had fallen, and he had wanted to shoot himself for the way she had left, throwing worried looks back at him from the doorway, but Ashes still had all his bullets. 

Marius tried to talk to him about it, once. Jonny hadn’t told him shit, because fuck Marius if he thought Jonny was just going to let him psychoanalyze him that easily. It did, however, lead to Marius following him around for a day like a lost puppy, making enough noise to cover one of Tim’s explosive sprees. Jonny had wanted to crawl up into a vent, but he was pretty sure Marius would have just followed him in. Ashes still wouldn’t give him any bullets, and he was considering using Marius’ violin to beat him to death. He ended up screaming at him. He didn’t remember exactly what he had said, but Marius did leave, with a somewhat shocked look on his face, and that was all Jonny had wanted. 

It wasn’t easy to kill himself without the use of a gun, but Jonny tried. Someone always found him, though, and confiscated whatever he had used that time. Eventually the others started taking turns checking in on what he was doing, to make sure he wasn’t trying to bash his brains in against the walls. He wanted to scream. 

Nastya told him that he wasn’t a failure. He had made a joke about it, expecting a chuckle or two, but then Nastya was staring him in the eyes with a deadly serious expression. She told him that he wasn’t a failure, and Jonny didn’t understand. He didn’t like not understanding. So instead, he was angry. He snapped that Nastya wouldn’t understand because she wasn’t broken. Because the doctor had always said that Nastya was perfect. She looked at him like he had smacked her across the face. They’d all been hurt by her, Nastya spat, and he didn’t have a monopoly on pain. She had stormed off, and Jonny was almost sorry, but he didn’t know how to be through all of his anger. 

He hid in the vents more. He didn’t want to be around them. 

Ashes wouldn’t let him steal back the bullets, and when he tried, they had confiscated his gun, as well. They told him that Nastya had told them what he’d said. They told him he wasn’t a failure, too, just like Nastya had before them. He still didn’t understand, because he was broken, so he was a failure. That was how it worked. They said that no, it wasn’t, but that they didn’t think he was broken, either. Who had told him that, anyways? 

He didn’t say anything. 

They scowled and said that Carmilla shouldn’t get much of a say about him. She was dead, and more importantly, a bastard. They said that he wasn’t broken because he felt things differently. That just made him different. He didn’t say anything. They shoved his guns in his hands and told him that if he shot himself again they would break it. 

Jonny could hear his heart beating. He always could. Sometimes the noise drove him insane, an inescapable rhythmic thud he felt down to his bones. It didn’t stop, it never stopped, but Jonny didn’t kill himself. He still downed more whiskey than mortal people could handle, but he didn’t kill himself. 

He turned off all the lights, or crawled into a vent. Tim had given him headphones that blocked out most sound, which he usually used for testing his explosives. They didn’t stop the sound of his mechanism, still pumping his blood with a steady beat. But he was learning to live with it. That was, really, all he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah basically I was having a bad day, sensory speaking, and decided 'hey, I'll just project all of this onto Jonny!' so. Sorry about that.  
> Uh, my tumblrs are peterofthedrakes and imjustmeat, if you wanna come talk to me! Maybe you can convince me to write about Jonny being happy for a change.


End file.
